


Growing Pains

by rivieradarling



Category: The Outsiders (1983), The Outsiders - All Media Types, The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: 1960s, Death, F/M, Gang Violence, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, i almost forgot about ponyboy....
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-13 07:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18936445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivieradarling/pseuds/rivieradarling
Summary: “The end of the ‘60s is coming.The family business is thriving.And Mina Santini is growing up…These are her Growing Pains.”





	Growing Pains

 “ _There was a child went forth every day,_

_And the first object he looked upon and received with wonder or pity_

_or love or dread, that object he became,_

_And that object became part of him for the day or a certain part of the day_

_. . . . or for many years or stretching cycles of years_.”

― Walt Whitman

* * *

_The trouble, which would not end for the next twenty-something years – if it ever did end – began as far as Ademina Santini could tell, the summer of 1964 when a teenage boy took a last-minute road trip to New York City._

_But Mina wouldn’t reach this epiphany until years later when there was finally time to sit down and try to uncover the red string connecting events together. Her cleverness, which had been a defining feature in her youth, was one of few things that would remain from that era._

_Behold the false beginning –_

* * *

  ** _November 24, 1964_**

_It had been a pleasant year; the Civil Rights Act of 1964 passed, “The House of the Rising Sun” played in every corner store, diner, movie house, and drive-in theater lobby, virtually every young girl had come down with a serious case of Beatlemania, and Mina Santini had recently graduated high school after nearly a dozen year of schooling. . ._

“I hear Timmy Shepard’s coming home today,” Carla said the moment Mina set a chocolate milkshake on the tabletop.

Had it been just anyone, they would have missed the effects that name roused: the dose of vitality that shot up Mina’s spine, warming each vertebra on its way up; the squeak of the red vinyl booth as she shifted her legs over and under and back again, her cherry red lips spreading into a smile, then captured between her teeth, until smoothing into their usual pursed state – an evolution so quick Darwin wouldn’t have noticed. But Aunt Carla wasn’t just anyone.

“Angela called me the other night. Said he’s being released early on ‘good behavior.’ But I know it’s the overcrowding.” She retrieved a napkin from the pocket of her apron and placed it by her aunt’s hands, her eyes everywhere but where they should be. It was still cloudy outside, she noticed.

A hybrid expression encompassed Carla’s face, a thoughtless, knowing smile and something else Mina couldn’t name and didn’t particularly want to. “And, I hear,” the woman began, carefully stirring the milkshake into a frothy soup, “that there’s a party in his and Nicco’s honor tonight.”

Mina briefly wondered who her contacts were before annoying herself with her own stupidity. “Mhm, I’m heading over after my shift.” It wasn’t missing a shift at the restaurant that Carla was worried about, but Mina had been playing this game for a while, she knew how it went.

“Well, good. You’re always working, Mina. It’s time you dedicate some time to yourself and have fun.” _But not too much_ , was always implied.

The older woman sipped happily on her milkshake, nearing its end, then paused and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Your grandfather invited some acquaintances to tomorrow’s dinner.” Her words were careful and deliberate. “Your cousin Damiano among them.” She folded the used napkin once, twice, then three times, her dark gaze drawn to her working hands.

Mina raised a brow at her aunt’s employment of the word ‘acquaintances.’ It wasn’t rare for her grandfather to invite outsiders to dinner sometimes, but he rarely provided a warning. “He believes them to be an excellent group of men, hopes you’ll think so, too.”

Recognition flashed in Mina’s blurry eyes and she nodded, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear, a small smile tugging at her lips and cheeks. “I hope so, too, _zia_.”

Aunt Carla mirrored her smile and drained her glass with a noisy slurp. “Thank you for the milkshake, _topolina_. I’ll see you later.” Carla slid out of the booth, the bench squeaking from the friction of her weight, and the fabric of her skirt, and the fact that that booth was notoriously noisy. The older woman began to gather her belongings, scooping up her scarf and her handbag from where she fished out a crisp five-dollar bill and laid it on the tabletop. Mina assisted her aunt with her coat, holding it up to provide easy access and kissed her goodbye.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, somewhere deep in the heart of Tulsa. She hummed as she wiped away the condensation that had dripped off the milkshake glass. The bill was stiff and heavy in her hand like it was fresh from the teller, Mina pocketed it, and thought of the untouched cherry in Aunt Carla’s glass.

* * *

The man was still standing on the corner of Pickett and Sutton when Mina Santini left the diner. She had passed him on her walk to work for a week, each day growing more unsettled.

A group of women formed a half-circle around him, their eyes shining, eyebrows arched with intrigue. No one seemed particularly affected by his words, it was his presence that grounded them to the cement. Street preachers didn’t simply pop up on street corners on the North side. She spotted a few familiar faces in the crowd, matriarchs from her neighborhood cradling groceries or work uniforms, due to start the night shift when the clock struck seven or the preacher finally abandoned his post, whichever came first.

“And where is _God_ in all of this?” His clear voice rang, the first signs of sundown filtering through the dark clouds. A few in the crowd chuckled darkly. They knew the answer. Mina did too.

God didn’t reside in the North side of Tulsa, he hadn’t in a while.

She was halfway down the adjacent street before he could finish his monologue. She wrapped her coat tighter around her small form, each muffled bump of her bag against her thigh urging her to walk faster. Her cheeks were saturated pink as the wind rolled, ruffling the dark auburn locks that escaped the loosening grip of her ponytail.

She couldn’t pinpoint what it was about the man that bothered her so. It wasn’t his ill-fitting suit or his scuffed shoes – poverty wasn’t exactly a rarity around these parts. Maybe it was the way he spoke, his voice heavy and jagged, like bolded text personified, too intrusive to bare for longer than a second. _(Maybe it was his presence in general.)_ Mina had been to a Christian service in junior high once, the pastor had spoken in that same voice. It was a tactic employed to encourage visceral reactions from a passionate congregation, but on the corner of Pickett and Sutton, it highlighted his audience’s silence.

November had brought its usual chill and she knew that if she didn’t hurry, the night would soon turn as dark as it was cold. It wasn’t the temperature she was worried about, every Tulsan knew better than to wander around the Northside lonesome, especially after sundown. The moon, with all her beauty, was only ever a witness and never a savior.

The sun was settling with blues and purples on the horizon when she entered the alley behind the restaurant. The backdoor was ajar, and a sliver of warmth and light beckoned her, the muted sounds of the jazz band tuning up teasing her ears. Mina tugged on the thick handle, another world fabricating before her.

The heart of Tierra Nostra was its bustling, lively kitchen. Waiters clad in black and white filtered in and out, balancing trays of drinks, entrees, and empty plates on their hands or shoulders. The numerous light fixtures provided a distinct contrast from the greying sky and dim alley and a flurry of scents greeted her. She closed the steel door behind her and wandered toward the line of hooks where employees kept their coats and hats and scarves, the heat from the ovens instantly relieving her chilled body.

“Good to see ya, Mina!” Rafe called, his greeting instantaneous, he’d always had sharp eyes, they hopped from the tray he was nurturing to her wiggling figure. She was trying to remove her coat. It was her favorite for the same reason it needed replacing, it was snug on her arms, providing her with extra warmth when necessary, it was only a hassle now.

“You say that every day, Rafe,” she laughed, amusement playing in her tone. She finally got the coat off and draped it over a lonely hook. She retrieved her apron, tossing the soft, white cloth over her shoulder. Her feet led her to the sink, the routine long since ingrained within her.

Rafe placed the dark tray over his shoulder, “Coz every day it’s true,” he winked and disappeared behind the double doors before she could reply.

A scoff escaped her upturned lips, she shook her head, turning the faucet on and pumping the soap dispenser until a generous amount resided on her palms. Dispersing it diligently for a few seconds, she contemplated the remainder of her day. Even if she wanted to skip the party, Angela wouldn’t stand for it, knowing her, she’d stomp over to her house – or annoy one of Tim’s boys to the point that they’d give her a ride – and push her off the bed, pouting at her for being so boring. Aunt Carla was right, it'd been a while since she had fun and done something entirely for her own amusement. Angela said she worked too much. The smile that had been lingering over her lips since her interaction with Rafe rejuvenated, Angela always had that effect on her, it’d been that way for as long as Mina could remember and she reckoned it would stay that way ‘til the end of her days.

She rinsed the suds off, drying her hands with her apron and tying it at her waist. The energy streaming in from the main room began to revitalize the kitchen, the stove burners blaring a little louder, the chefs’ words looping and rolling along to the jazz tunes. The atmosphere was coming together seamlessly, every employees’ heart seemed to thump in harmony.

Mina tugged at the restrictive ribbon, her mass of dark hair settling against her back, and for a second she wondered if the preacher made it home safe. It’s her last thought before her dainty hands push the swinging doors, the jazz melodies cutting the rest of the world off. For the next few hours, only the souls at Tierra Nostra exist.

* * *

Angela was standing on the crumbling sidewalk at the end of the block when Mina approached. The youngest Shepard had a cigarette between her plump, rosy lips and was tapping her right foot shamelessly. Angela’s eyes brightened when they spotted Mina’s figure appearing under the flickering streetlight, she took another puff before hopping off the rounded corner and meeting her friend halfway. She wrapped her thin arms around the older girl, bending her wrist away so the cigarette didn’t sear her coat.

“Minaaa,” Angela cooed, giving a small squeeze before pulling away. “I was boutta go lookin’ for you,” She frowned.

Mina chuckled softly, “I would never miss _this_ party.”

“Yeah, but you would show up late for it,” she pouted, yanking lightly at a lock of Mina’s freshly washed hair with two fingers.

Their eyes met and a smile blossomed on Angela’s mouth. “Okay,” she let up. Mina bumped their hips and the two giggled, making their way down the sidewalk to the Shepard house. Groups of teenagers stood around the lawn drinking from beer and pop bottles, a few greeted the pair but the music flowing from the backyard muffled most of the chatter.

Angela pushed her way to the front door and opened it easily. The knob was loose and tended to refuse locking entirely. Mina allowed the younger girl to guide her inside, where a few familiar Northsiders lounged around the living room.

“Mina!” Curly greeted from the kitchen, a big grin on his features as he strode over. He was a whole head taller than her and still growing.

“Hi, Curly,” he brought her into a tight hug before Angela smacked his shoulder and he pulled away.

“Nicco’s outside with Darry Curtis and his guys if you wanna see ‘im,” Curly informed as she removed her coat. Angela took it from her, shoving it into Curly’s arms.

“He and Ponyboy were being pimples on the ass of humanity again,” Angela sneered, her big Bambi eyes staring daggers at her brother who simply cracked up with laughter.

“It was funny as fuck, Mina, shoulda been there.”

“Where’s Tim?” Angela snapped, peering up at her brother, voice sharp and impatient.

“In the kitchen,” Curly threw a thumb in that direction with no real reaction to his sister’s childlike fury and walked down the hallway to deposit her coat.

Angela gave her a look and rolled her blue eyes. Mina made a soft noise and grabbed Angela’s hand, pulling her towards the kitchen. Tim Shepard and a couple of his guys were talking loudly, animatedly. ~~~~

_The Shepards are real lookers_ , she’s reminded when her eyes found Tim. Tim was a lean, muscled eighteen-year-old _(he’d only been eighteen for twenty days then, no one talked about the fact that he’d come of age inside)_ who looked like the model JD in movies and magazines. He was tall – taller than Curly and that was saying something – and had wavy black hair, smoldering dark eyes, and a long scar from temple to chin where a vagrant had slugged him with a broken pop bottle a few years ago. There was something about Tim, there always had been. He was magnetic, **electric**. You couldn’t ignore him even if you tried, and God did Mina try. He exuded character, he demanded attention. He wasn’t beautiful like Darry Curtis’s brother Soda, but he was attractive, nobody could deny it.

Mina focused her eyes anywhere else as they passed through the kitchen towards the backdoor. Angela’s hand in hers like an anchor. The chilly night air greeted her skin, refreshing against the long sleeves of her blouse. The backyard was teeming with people bopping to an Elvis track.

Inside, Tim Shepard’s lips pursed together. He wasn’t a praying man but _Jesus Christ_ , Mina sure had grown up while he was gone.

“Happy Birthday, Nicco.” She murmured into her brother’s ear, her arms loosely looping around his neck. He was sitting on an old lawn chair, surrounded by Darry’s gang and a few others. She felt his strong chest rumble with laughter, “It ain’t midnight yet.”

She planted a kiss on his cheek and stroked a few stray locks of dark hair off his forehead, “Well, yeah, but I wanted to be the first one to congratulate you.” Nicco smiled their mother’s smile, all nice teeth, and sincere, shining eyes. She caught the hand he placed on her elbow and gave it a light squeeze before disappearing into the crowd. 

* * *

The night was winding down and Two-Bit Mathews, who she had always liked despite herself, had spun her around one too many times than her childhood dance classes had prepared her for. Steadying herself on the guardrail of the backdoor steps, she let out a small giggle, “I’ll be back!” She called out to Darry Curtis and he pouted his lips, glancing down at his empty beer bottle. She rolled her eyes, giggles still flowing from her lips, “I’ll get you some water too!” She carefully climbed the three steps and went over the threshold.

She wasn’t drunk, but she did have a nice buzz going. She blamed Two-Bit for her haphazard balance. She closed the door behind, immediately encroached by the quiet. Tim Shepard, the other man of the hour, was leaned against the kitchen counter like he had hadn’t moved once tonight. He held a beer bottle in his large hand and she tried not to notice the new marks on his knuckles. At the door’s soft click, he glanced upward, and their gazes met. The buzz in Mina’s chest calmed and nearly dissipated entirely.

“Ademina Santini.” He breathed out, his dark blue eyes scanning her up and down. He detected her state, recognizing the flush in her cheeks and the look in her eyes, though he’d only seen her like this a few times. He took another swig from the bottle in his hands.

“Tim Shepard,” she acknowledged lowly.

He said nothing as she opened the fridge and removed the jug of cold water. She served herself a glass, drinking slowly. Tim watched her intently, occasionally taking swigs of his beer. Snores emanated from the living room, coloring the silence between them. Later, she’d discover Ponyboy and Curly, who’d knocked out on the living room floor. She refilled the glass and put the jug back, almost forgetting to get another beer for Darry. As nice as Mrs. Curtis was, her boys drinking was something she wouldn't put up with. It made Darry a careful drinker, always sipping water in-between beers and making sure his stomach was full.

“Thanks for lookin’ after Angel.” She turned to him and nodded slightly, avoiding his eyes.

“I hope you had a nice time because I’m not doing it again.” They both knew that was a lie. Mina didn’t need an excuse to watch over Angela, she’d been doing that since she was thirteen. But things had been different then, before the Shepard gang, he had taken Angela under her wing because she wanted to, not because her big brother was away.

“I’ve learned my lesson.” He hid his smirk; Mina’s intensity never bothered him. She was simply trying to make a point now, he knew they understood each other.

“Have a nice Thanksgiving, Tim,” she said, nearing the backdoor again.

“You too, Mina.”

* * *

   
_“All things truly wicked start from an innocence.”_

― Ernest Hemingway

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have been working and planning and nurturing this fic and character since June of 2018. Mina Santini and her story is something I hold really close to my heart. So I hope you all enjoy it! Feel free to comment all your thoughts and opinions below! (I desperately need the feedback.)
> 
> Mina and her family are Italian, so this story will feature plenty of Italian dialogue, below are some translations.
> 
> Zia - Aunt/Auntie  
> Topolina - Little Mouse


End file.
